


Smile and Let it go

by Charlie_Ross_Winchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Bottom Dean, Businessperson Dean Smith, But I'm not sorry, Castiel Acts Like Endverse Castiel, Daddy Dom Castiel (Supernatural), DeanSmithxCasEndverse, F/F, Gentle Dom Castiel, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mary Winchester sucks at being a parent, Sub Dean, Top Castiel, Trust Issues, i'm really bad with this, more tag in the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 09:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16365326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Ross_Winchester/pseuds/Charlie_Ross_Winchester
Summary: Dean Winchester is thirty-four years old and has everything a man could want. A nice car, a nice loft in one of the most known American city and a steady job that makes him get enough money to be able to afford everything he want. But he’s not happy....“Did you know that those who peel the labels off the bottles are sexually frustrated?”





	Smile and Let it go

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, hi everyone. I really don’t know what this is. I mean, I’m studying economy and every time I open a book all I can think about is a Destiel office!Au so here we are.  
> This chapter in not bated so all mistakes are mine and English is not my first language so try to forgive me. (Tell me please if I messed up something)  
> I really love Seattle but I’ve never been there so all the descriptions, in this chapter and in the next ones are completely made up my me and my best friend google.  
> Dean!Smith it’s a bit different in this fic, for exeple he smokes, in canon this would be outrageous lol.   
> The Dom/Sub content will be very important in the story that will be mostly by Dean's Pov.
> 
> Enjoy <3

 

  
** SMILE AND LET IT GO **

  
  
**Dean Winchester is thirty-four years old and has everything a man could want. A nice car, a nice loft in one of the most known American city and a steady job that makes him get enough money to be able to afford everything he want. But he’s not happy**  
**“Did you know that those who peel the labels off the bottles are sexually frustrated?”**  
  
 

 

**.  
.  
.**

 

 

   
   
   
   
 

 

**CHAPTER ONE**  
**.**  
**.**  
**.**  
 

_“But what happens to the girl with no positive parental examples?  
What happens to the girl with the cold mother who   
conditioned herself to bury her emotions?   
And what happens to the girl with the father who  
is an example of who not to marry?” _

_― LaTasha “Tacha B.” Braxton_

  
 

   
The truth is Dean Winchester is tired of people. He’s tired to hear them talk in the train, to see them pushing other people to get in the bus, to eat those stupid sandwiches every day during the lunch break.  
  
He doesn’t know exactly when he stopped believing in people but he can still remember how he liked to looking into their eyes and search that sparkle that makes everyone so special. The sparkle that makes you understand that each person has a story to tell, something to share.  
  
Probably he just realized, at some point of his life, that people get you nowhere. He’s never been a cynic person, even if this claptrap could make you think quite the opposite. But it’s not like he goes everywhere with a gray cloud upon his head and no children cry when they meet his eyes.  
  
He’s kind when it’s necessary, hell, he even help old ladies cross the street with their ridiculous shopping cart. He even smiles, when it’s necessary.  
  
And maybe this is the problem. He does everything only if it’s necessary.  
  
It’s all about be screwed and not even in the funny way. At some point of your life you’re been screwed so many times that even feel bad about it it’s stupid. And every time, every single time, the only common thread are people.  
  
Everything started when he was little, normal family in a normal house in Dumbfuck, Nowhere. Even the maps don’t know where it is. A normal family of the twenty-one century where you’re mom never loves you enough and your father is so busy to figure out when is life went to hell to realize that it’s your life that he’s screwing.  
  
Not that his father is guilty of something, he just loved the wrong woman at the wrong time.  
It’s not his fault if you had to sit in your room when the dishes flew in the kitchen, it’s not his fault if you had to plug Sammy’s hears when the screams get too loud. And Hell, it’s not even his fault if your mom doesn’t feel like to be your mom.  
  
It’s all people fault. People who have this strange claim of having to always seem happy that leads them to pretend so much that at some point in their lives they are addicted to their self-conviction and when something happens that destabilizes their precarious mental balance, they realize... They are not happy.  
  
_I’m not happy to be a mom, I’m not happy to be a thirty years old woman and failing to conclude anything in my life. I’m not happy to be a cashier in a minimarket where every day there are the same ten people._  
  
For a very long time Dean believed that was his fault. Now maybe he stopped believing it, even if there are moments where he wonders, _maybe I did something wrong?_  
  
Dean thought about it a lot and he never found the right answer, especially because a child that ear his mom say, “ _it’s just, I don’t fell to be their mom”,_ how could be possible guilty for something?  
  
That night he get out of his room only to bring some water to Sammy, he’s was thirsty not even Dean and instead of some water he found himself a nice childhood trauma.  
  
Luckily you forget many things growing up, Dean never forgot that sentence.  
  
_Maybe I was not enough._  
  
_Maybe I get her angry too much._  
  
_I should work harder in school._  
  
_I could be funnier._  
  
Dean grew up with those four sentences spinning round and round in his head till they became his personality, the way he socialize with people, what drives him to behave in a certain way in practically all aspects of his life.  
  
His raison d’etre.  
  
  
He never starts arguments at work, even when he wants to break his boss’ head against the wall because he could run the company ten times better than him. It does not even sound the horn when those damned cyclists do not keep the right on the damn road. He let it go.  
  
  
He smiles and let it go.  
  
Dean puts his soul into everything he does, he commits himself so much that he’s often surprised of his own results.  
  
"You were good, Dean" is all he lives for.  
  
"You could work harder" and his heart starts beating so hard that nothing could calm him down.  
  
Nothing except Alki Beach.  
  
And yes, probably you’re thinking, how can Dean possibly find relaxing a place so full of people?  
  
Well nothing. Nothing when the sun shines.  
  
There is this strange calm in the air in this seafront a couple of hours after the sun goes down.  
  
There’s nothing interesting enough to sightseeing for the tourists, children don’t scream building their sandcastles, even the traffic decreases substantially.  
  
There’s only the smell of saltiness and the beautiful sound that the waves of the ocean make when they arrive on the white beach and take it away a bit. They lull you until your head is relaxed and the smoke of your cigarette has disappeared into the sky full of clouds.  
  
Despite all this, the strange thing is that people love Dean.  
  
Or at least they admire him.  
  
He has a nice car, a good job and enough money to afford one of those apartments in those skyscrapers in the center of the richest district of Seattle. No one does really like them. They’re too nosy, too expensive and so pretentious.  
  
People love him because he makes them laugh, Dean loves to make them laugh. See how their eyes engage the mouth when he says something stupid, their kind expression when he decides to do someone a favor without expecting anything in return.  
  
So yes, Dean is tired of people, but he does not hate them. It's just that they've all become so predictable that Dean doesn’t have even to try harder to get something.  
  
People love Dean and he loves that they love him.  
  
It's a night like any other and Dean is by the sea, sitting at his usual bench somewhere in the middle of the eight miles of beach facing the ocean. It's all calmer than usual, perhaps because it's so late that even in such a big city the time comes for everyone to sleep.  
  
He does not even remember when he saw the last car darting behind him or the last turn of the Ferris wheel. It was a hard day at work, Alastair keeps looking down on everyone with that horrible grin on his face. It's only his fault that they lost one of their clients, Dean had warned him but obviously he did not listen to him, he never really did.  
  
Not that Dean cares so much, the company is not his, he has not invested anything but being the director of accounting for almost ten years leads you to love what you do, especially if you really have nothing else to put  your feelings in.  
  
Other than the youtube’s playlists of the best GoldenBuzzer by American's Got talent or The Blind  
Audition by The Voice. (Yes, it's a bit obsessed with talent shows).  
  
He still wonders how that damned six year old girl was able to sing a song by Celine Dión without  
making a single mistake.  
  
“Did you know that those who peel the labels off the bottles are sexually frustrated?”  
  
Dean stares at the bottle in his hands, where only a small piece of paper is still attached.  Then Dean looks in the eyes of the stranger who has just spoken. When the place next to him on his bench has been occupied, it remains a mystery.  
  
  
It's not really a nice pick-up line, especially if it's two o'clock in the morning in the middle of the ocean.  
  
People would probably all laugh in front of those serious blue eyes that keep staring at Dean as if they really want an answer.  
  
All people but not Dean, not Dean who hates psychology and Freud so much that when he was still at college and he was forced to study that subject he’d rather take a horrible grade to not tell those four bullshits his teacher keep calling science. Freud and his damn childhood traumas.  
  
“The bench is taken”  
  
“Mh, bad day?”  
  
_Euphemism of the century,_ Dean would respond but he doesn’t want absolutely to give at the stranger the satisfaction of an answer. Above all Dean doesn’t want to start any discussion about life and its problems in front of the ocean.  
  
It would be a great scene for a movie, but this is not a movie.  
  
  
The stranger next to him is now holding a cigarette in his mouth. He plays with it with the tip of his tongue making the cigarette wobble for a moment while he is patting his trouser pockets looking, certainly, for a lighter.  
  
Dean is so close to tear the cigarette off from his mouth and throw it on the ground but the guy probably would pull another from his packet and at that point Dean will surely get an aneurysm.  
  
So Dean picks his little red lighter and passes it to the stranger, hoping at least to finish his cigarette in silence after the brilliant pick-up line of the guy next to him.  
  
“It really seems you had a bad day”  
  
“And you really seem the typical guy who goes around doing stupid personal questions to people he barely knows at two in the morning” Dean answers, he doesn’t look at the stranger yet but he takes back his lighter and put it in his jacket pocket. Dean keep losing every lighter he buys, losing one now, for some drunk guy sitting on _his_ bench, is just a waste.  
  
“Oh, so we know each other?” and Dean looks at him this time but just to have the satisfaction to do the biggest eye roll in the history of eye rolls. Just now Dean realize the state of the stranger’s clothes.  
  
They’re all massed up, his white shirt is completely rumpled, his eyes empty and a bit glassy.  
  
“Maybe you should worry about your crappy day” Dean says, pointing to the crumpled shirt. The stranger just shrugs, as if he does not really care to look like someone just got out of a brawl. He puffs a small cloud of smoke in the air and follows it with his eyes until it dissolves completely and then turns to Dean.  
  
The stranger raises his eyebrows. He expects a reply but Dean’s only reaction is another eye roll.  
  
“Castiel”  
  
“What?”  
  
“My name. Castiel”  
  
“Good for you”  
  
“Don’t you tell me your name?” he keep saying when he realize Dean is not gonna answer.  
  
“Do you ever take that stick out of your ass?”  
  
“I don’t know… I like the feeling”.  
  
The quite night is filled by the sound of the stranger's laughter beside him -Castiel- and Dean can’t help but smile with him, he wisely turns his face to the other side so the guy can’t see him and takes a drag of the cigarette, which has now become too short to be really smoked.  
  
Dean throws it on the ground beneath him and gets up from the bench, he crushes the cigarette with the tip of his expensive pair of shoes and he pat his trouser pockets in search of the car keys.  
  
"You look like that kind of guy, actually ," Castiel says only, and Dean is too tired to even pretend he does not care, so he looks into the blue in front of him with an obvious question in his eyes.  
  
"Who likes to have a stick in the ass”. He has again that slight smile painted on the lips, _one of those involving the eyes and the whole face_.  
  
Dean can’t help but notice it while shaking his head, pretending to be outraged by what the guy just said and slowly moving away towards his Impala.  
  
"You never told me what your name is!" Castiel raises his voice before Dean get away completely.  
  
Dean stops for a moment, hesitant about what to do but then he turns and "Dean, my name is Dean".  
  
Dean looks in Castiel’s eyes for the last time and then stares the ocean; he's already too far from the bench when Castiel speaks again _._  
  
 “Nice to meet you, Dean”  
  
 

 

  
  


   
   
  
Turns out losing one of their most important clients doesn’t piss off only Dean but even the Capital One Investing headquarter.  
  
Dean can’t be happier reading the mail, sitting in his cozy chair in his office. Even the usual burned coffee, from the third floor vending machine, seems better today. Alastair was fired, their New York stakeholders finally realize what a fuckin’ incompetent he was and apparently, there will be a meeting in the conference room between their new branch manager and all the Heads of Departments, today at three p.m.  
  
Dean is not particularly worried about the meeting, being the director of the accounting only means he has to talk to the new douchebag behind the desk about the financial statements and the company budget. He’s pretty good at his job and he really likes it.  
  
No one can possibly be worst then Alastair.  
  
It’s with this same though in his head that at three to ten he reaches the elevator of his floor and blocks the doors with his paper folder before they close.  
  
“Hi, bitch”  
  
“Celeste” Dean says. Charlie punches him on the arm and smiles at Dean.  
  
Charlie is the Director of Research, Development and Innovation, which for Dean makes absolutely no sense but she seems to be good at whatever she does in her field. She’s probably one of the very few people with who Dean likes talking at work. There are so many people in the building.  
  
“You know I hate that name”  
  
“I know” Dean smiles and tightens the knot of his tie, slightly loosened.  
  
“So, new boss. I’m worried”  
  
 “They never last Charlie, do you remember Naomi? Shortest management ever”  
  
“Yes but, I read something you know. He seems like a bigshot from Sales, he was one of the Head Departments in New York. Do you remember last month? That big contract for which everyone was happy?”  
  
“The one with the American Seafood?” Charlie nods and Dean keeps staring at her with his mouth wide open until the elevator doors open again.  
  
“That financial plan was brilliant” Charlie keeps saying, “I hate him”.  
  
“You hate him only because Dorothy was working at that same contract for almost four months and then a guy from the other part of the country makes a deal with a local company”.  
  
“Do you have any idea how much is a commission for a sale like that? We had to go in Europe next summer” she pouts, her shoes resonate on the marble floor of the conference room.  
  
There are not many free chairs around the table, exept for the big black chiar for the new boss who apparently is a bit late.  
  
"You know I write the salary checks at the end of the month, right?" He winks at her, before sitting down on the other side of the oval table, to his right Bela, their lawyer, Dean hates her with the intensity of a thousand burning suns but at least with her they never lost a case in Court.  
   
Charlie sits on Dean’s left and makes a face.  
  
“Charming like always, ms. Bradbury” Bela smiles at Charlie, it’s one of her fake smiles that creeps everyone out. She straighten up on her chair as soon as she hears the door of the room open.  
  
Charlie makes such a funny expression that Dean would laugh if only his heart had not just stopped in his throat.  
  
"Are you gotta be kidding me" and Dean thought he had just thought about it but apparently he said it out loud because everyone in the room is now staring at him outraged, even Charlie's eyes widen and she mumbles _asshole_ at him.  
  
But the stranger of the bench, Castiel or whatever his name was, is in front of him with a spark of amusement in his eyes.  
  
Castiel looks down on him as if he is studying him, Dean clears his throat and keep staring at his new boss, looking for an alternative explanation for his presence in the room, in addition to the most  
obvious hypothesis that he is in fact the new manager of his company.  
  
Bela clears his throat, bringing him back to the planet earth and Dean can’t help but blush as everyone keeps staring at him insistently.  
  
"Is there any problem?" Was his voice so deep last night? Dean had not noticed.  
  
He looks like a completely different person with his clothes in the right place and the blue tie of the same shade of his eyes.  
  
Eyes that are not empty or glassy anymore and keep staring at him amused ... and Dean has not answered the question yet.  
  
When he realizes it his ears become red too.  
  
"No, sir"  
  
Castiel's expensive leather chair crunches as he sits down and everyone suddenly seems to forget about Dean.  
  
Fortunately, he's never been a fan of the spotlight.  
  
Charlie stares at Dean for a few seconds but then turns her attention to what it’s not apparently the new Starbucks delivery boy but their new manager.  
  
"Good" Castiel clears his throat and looks at Dean again, "Shall we start?"  
  
_Let’s start, indeed._  
   
   
   
 

**Author's Note:**

> Link for the Italian version: https://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3800832&i=1


End file.
